Opening Night for Gwanghapdan Art Collective “Grounding” exhibition at Gallerythec in Seoul, Korea.
Thanks to all who attended ~
Touché ~
I started to shower, then a knock on the door. “Papi, I need to pee”. “oK, Olin. Come in”. “No, I don’t like it when it’s wet”.
I finished washing in record time, squeegeed the floor dry and let him in.
When I was done dressing, Olin was waiting for me outside the door.
“Papi, let’s play!”
“oK, gordo. Give me a second”.
After dropping my pj’s in the hamper, I reached for the French press and yesterday’s leftover coffee. About to pour myself a cup, Olin again:
“Papi, let’s play!!”
“oK, Olin. I’m coming…”
“No Papi, you’re going”.
Touché ~
Gwanghapdan
A few weeks ago, I was invited to become a member of Gwanghapdan, a collective of Korean artists.
Although I’ve been an artist all of my adult life and I’ve been an integral part of various communities through the years, being part of a collective is a first for me.
Attending my first meeting as a member, I was surprised and honored to be asked to edit the coming issue of our monthly zine.
I proposed the theme of “Blindness”. When the submissions started coming in, I was blown away by the quality of the works. I presented the completed dummy today and next month it will become available through Gwanghapdan and Same Dust Bookstore.
Look at this
“Look at this” is how us, photographer fathers, like to teach our children about the world. But photographer Frank Espada, father of poet Martin Espada, knew that looking - and understanding - should be followed by action.
Here’s Martin’s poem, remembering his father.
—-
Look at This
My father spoke: Look at this, he said to me. We were walking throughan alley from somewhere to somewhere else in Brooklyn. In front of us, a man with white hair and a white beard reached into a dumpster, plucked out a bag of potato chips, stuffed his arm up to the elbow in the bag, let it flutter to the pavement at his feet, and shuffled ahead.
Look at this, my father said again. Sometimes, he would repeat himself.He walked up behind the white-haired man, called Good morning, sir! so the other man wheeled around to see us, shook his hand and left a twenty-dollar bill in the handshake, all without slowing down.
We never spoke of it again. The day we left Brooklyn, he drove away away so fast he left a stack of his 78s in the closet of the apartment in the projects. Look at this was all he said, and all he had to say. Look.
Hanukkah Miracle
Last night it was -4C and today the temps rose and rose until they reached a blissful 16C.
Was it a little Hanukkah miracle? Possibly. It sure was a gift!
Chag Sameaj!
한글
O: Papi, what are you doing?
J: Practicing my Korean.
O: Dinosaurs can help you.
A loaded gun
My Senior year in High School, I applied for and received a scholarship from the Hebrew University in Jerusalem to study Psychology and English Literature. The first three years of my education I lived in the student dorms on Mount Scopus.
It was a remarkable experience in many ways, in part because it brought together under one roof foreigners, Israelis and Palestinian Israeli Arabs, many of whom were scholarship students like myself. We shared the common areas like the kitchen and shower stalls on a daily basis. We lived beside one another.
A couple of times during my studies, my parents came to visit from Guatemala. Those were the days before cell phones and 24/7 connectivity. So when they wanted to visit me on campus, we would just agree to meet in my dorm room after class. Jerusalem being Jerusalem, we would spill out from the classroom, walking together, arguing and laughing, continuing lively academic conversations and debates. It was not unusual that I lost all sense of time and arrived late to meet my parents. Whenever that happened, I knew where to find them: one of the Palestinian students on my floor would surely have welcomed them into their room and offered them tea or coffee and cookies while they waited for me.
Among Palestinians, the process of brewing coffee is very similar to that of Turkey. There’s a whole ritual involved. Coffee is brewed in a small copper pot, mixed with sugar and cardamom. It is allowed to rise, cool slightly, and rise again repeatedly until it reaches the desired consistency. My floor mates knew that I loved to share a cup with them and they sometimes asked me to join them in one of their rooms.
On one of those occasions we got onto the subject of the history of Israel. A chasm seemed to open up before us. Their narrative of events had nothing to do with mine. It contradicted every historical account I had ever read. For instance, I asked what they thought of the 1948 War of Independence. I said that on the very day of its creation, following a vote and mandate by the United Nations, Israel was invaded by the combined armies of Egypt, Syria, Iraq, Transjordan, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia and Yemen. I was told in reply that it was the exact opposite, Israel had declared war on its neighbors and expelled Palestinians. We talked for the better part of an hour. We could find no common ground.
Finally, visibly exasperated, one of the guys took out his wallet and showed me an ID. It was his membership in the Palestinian Liberation Organization. He then told me that were his commanding officer to order me dead, he would not hesitate to kill me. I looked into his eyes and saw this was no empty threat. There were at least five or six others present. I glanced at their faces. Nobody spoke. The silence was deafening and I felt like I was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. I drained the last of my sweet coffee, suddenly bitter in my mouth.
I rose, left the room, and never went back.
Hope Week
In early June of 2019, I got a call from the New York Yankees. By then I had become accustomed to taking all kinds of calls on behalf of Olmedini. The truth is nobody could find him, so they looked for me instead. In a way (although I never took a penny) I had become the de facto agent to an octogenarian, blind magician.
The Yankees told me they had seen my photographs in the NY Times; they were so moved by the story they planned to honor Olmedini during their annual Hope Week celebration, inviting him to throw the Ceremonial First Pitch at the stadium on game day.
They gave me a date and asked me to make sure the magician would be at home that morning, without spoiling the surprise. So I called Olmedini: “Respetado mago, make sure when you wake up on June 19th you stay at home until I arrive. Have your best suit ready, get a fresh haircut and a manicure. And just know that this will be one of the best days of your life”.
And he did. And it was.
Five pitchers and a host of cable news networks arrived in El Barrio to greet him at home and escort him by subway to Yankee Stadium. And that was just the start.
The ties that bind us
We were once strangers meeting on the subway for the first time. As I look back over the work we created together, it suddenly dawns on me - and I feel completely overwhelmed by the realization - that I have taken more photographs of Olmedini than anyone else I’ve ever known.
The bond between us runs that deep.
Blossom
It’s only our second shoot together but Olmedini’s appearance has already dramatically changed. The magician is poor and lives in city housing for the disabled. Money comes to him in crumpled single dollar bills. Nonetheless, today his hair is freshly cut and his hands manicured. His suit has been cleaned and pressed.
Soon, Olmedini will stop leaving home without his prosthetic eye.
Such is the power of knowing that you’re seen, that your talent and gifts are recognized. And of course, that goes double for an octogenarian performer who also happens to be blind.
We blossom when someone believes in us.
One in ten thousand
Underground. A reflection of Olmedini and Ana in a subway window. It reveals to me the feeling and connection between them at that moment, so I shoot a frame.
One in ten thousand.
Will it make it to the book? No idea.
But I hope so.
Memories come flooding back
Here's an image from the very first day of shooting with Olmedini, September 1st, 2018. I remember thinking: Olmedini has somehow upended the gravitational field of the subway; as soon as he boards a train objects levitate, appear and disappear, transform into other substances.
For the next few weeks, I am revisiting my files once again, photograph by photograph, to make sure that significant images are not missing from my edit. And of course they are. I know I am seeing these photographs anew but sometimes I am just understanding their deeper meaning for the first time.
The memories come flooding back.
There are over 10,000 photographs from the project. Of those, anywhere between 75-85 will be included in the monograph. Will you see this photograph in the book? Possibly. I am not certain yet. Part of that answer lies in the careful sequencing that will best tell the story of Olmedini El Mago.
Editing for a book is a complex, sometimes punishing process; sacrifices have to be made.
Catalogue
Now that I’ve got a sense of the overarching shape for “Olmedini El Mago” it’s time to return to my original files once again and make sure no significant images are missing from my edit.
In so doing, I felt an unexpected pang of emotion while looking at my Light Room Catalogue. There’s an entry for a shoot with Olmedini on 20181013, then two weeks later HRM pregnant at 37 weeks, six days later Luca and Olin being born on 20181029. And then, three weeks later on 20181121 a new shoot with Olmedini.
Art and life. Life and art.
There’s a book in here.
There’s a book in here; you just can’t see it yet.
Le Shana Tova
The end of the year finds me by the shore, working on a project that is near and dear to my heart. And I feel lucky and grateful to be here.
In fact, even though I’m far from my boys and HRM, it is a homecoming of sorts. A return to my truest self, the one that believes it has a gift to share with others.
By Rosh HaShana, I will be once again reunited with my family. And sometime in 5784, I hope to complete the design of “Olmedini El Mago” and find the right publisher for the book.
Shana Tova U Metuka! May the New Year bring you closer to living the life you dream of. And may we all - together - make the world a kinder and gentler place.
Artist Residence
I met Olmedo Renteria the same way hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers have over the years: spell-bound while he performed his magic act on the subway. The encounter made the deepest impression on me. I remembered the magician so vividly, that twenty years later, the summer before Olin and Luca were born, I set out to find him once again.
Life is nothing if not unpredictable. When I was finally able to get Olmedini on the phone, I learnt that during the intervening years, he had suffered a stroke that had left him blind. I was astonished to hear that the then seventy nine year old magician was still working the subway despite his age and physical impairment. A few days later, camera-in-hand, I met Olmedini on a subway platform and we boarded the train together.
A few months went by. Five thousand photographs in, I wrote the New York Times to pitch the story. It was published as a double page in the Sunday edition of the paper. From there, it made its way across the world and seemingly overnight, Olmedini became an international star. His long-cherished dream of making it big in New York was finally coming true when the pandemic ground everything to a halt. Our photographic collaboration - if not our abiding friendship and connection - went on an extended hiatus.
This past summer, on my way back from Cuba, I stopped in NYC for a few days. I gave myself the impossible task of composing some sort of epilogue to the series. And I believe I did.
“Olmedini El Mago" has a truly complex underlying structure. It will be quite a challenge to sift through the images in order to sequence and organize them for publication as a book. But this coming week I am embarking on that process. I’m headed for my happy place, the sea shore. An artist residence of one. No community of fellow artists, no technical support, no production facilities. But I will have the luxury of time and solitude.
And that’s all I really need to get things started.
Summer days
Their summer vacation is now over and I’ll miss the long, leisurely days together. Just like old times, before they started in on Day Care and Kindergarden. When the world was made up of four.
Mami made sure every day had something special in store for us. And I know that when they go back to class next week, they’ll have stories to tell, bright eyes and big smiles to greet their friends and teachers with.
Thank you HRM for all the love and care in everything you do 💌
Skittle dancing
After a very full day which included riding the town’s high tech Ferris Wheel, lunch at Sokcho Market, a visit to the old Chilsung Shipyards and then play time at “World King”, Olin and Luca had dinner and got a small bag of Sour Skittles for dessert. As twins sometimes do, they ate the same color candies at the same time. And then, midway through the bag, they surprised us by breaking out into a little celebratory dance.
Temper
When Olin is upset with me he says “Papi, go bicycling” or sometimes just “Enjoy your ride”.
Hide and Seek
Olin, hiding in a corner of a furniture store in Gangnam, waiting to surprise Mami as she comes up the stairs.
Kids play - and we play along while we work.